


Talk In Everlasting Words

by simplymoa



Category: Queer as Folk (US) RPF, White Collar RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-28
Updated: 2015-10-28
Packaged: 2018-04-28 15:48:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5096300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/simplymoa/pseuds/simplymoa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It's only words, and words are all I have, to take your heart away. "</p>
<p>Gale Harold is a hot actor and secretly gay. On a trip to New York, he sees the artwork of artist Matt Bomer, whose talent is not the only thing he's attracted to. Undercover of email, he begins a correspondence with the artist . When he comes to New York for filming and finally meets him, will he tell Matt the truth ... all of it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Talk In Everlasting Words

**Author's Note:**

> Special Thanks: To Judy and Peggy. Thank you, thank you, thank you from the bottom of my heart. I don't know what I'd do without you guys.

  
The red-brown leaf surrendered to the pull of gravity, to the flow of the wind. It floated aimlessly, helplessly, above the cabs and sidewalks, caught in a dance of impromptu rhythm and improvised steps until at last, it landed.

The pencil paused mid-stroke, its movement interrupted by the unexpected intruder in its path. Matt Bomer brushed the leaf away with his left hand before sitting back to examine his progress. He took in the perfectly straight lines forming an exact black-and-white replica of the park around him: the bench he currently occupied, the naked trees, the piles of leaves decaying nearby, the people strolling along. He glanced up from the sketchpad to compare the nearly seamless recreation with its live, three-dimensional counterpart, and he sighed.

How could he possibly fill a blank page with everything he saw? How could he capture the laughter, the sounds, the sadness and desperation with a mere stroke of the pencil? Could he? Was it possible?

The questions hovered above the ever-present ghosts of self-doubt. The need to start over pushed forward; the need to create and recreate until there was nothing left to question. The sheet ripped easily from its spiral binding, became nothing but a crumpled ball of disillusionment, and disappeared into an eternity of discarded attempts.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” she said, in a tone that betrayed her lack of sincerity. Her lips brushed against his in a hasty greeting, and she sat beside him, one hand deep in the pockets of her long black coat, the other holding her cellphone.

Bright blue eyes lingered on the empty-white nothingness of the page. “Is it five already?” he asked, though he was well aware that it was almost six. “Guess I lost track of time.” He looked up then, into his girlfriend’s brown eyes and searched for something to cling to. “Class run late?”

“The professor wanted to talk about my last paper,” she said and withdrew the folded pages of her mid-term from her bag. “Check it out.”

The large “A” lay at the top of the cover page, written in bright, permanent red ink. He smiled, trying to feel proud, but feeling a detached sense of resentment instead. “Is this the one you barely worked on?”

“Genius comes easily to some people,” she laughed. Her long blonde hair fell into her eyes, and out of reflex, Matt reached over to smooth it back. She smiled at him, kissed the palm of his hand as it grazed past her cheek. “I’m sorry I’ve been so busy lately.”

Matt looked at her for a long moment, taking in the beautiful eyes that had once held the power to disarm him. Where had that gone, he wondered. What was left in its place? “It’s really okay, Hilarie,” he said, knowing that one of these days he would have to tell her the truth.

She leaned over to kiss him and he smiled against her lips, tasting the bitter-sweetness of familiarity. He wished he could take a snapshot of that moment and frame it against the darker shadows of his thoughts. He wanted to whisper, “I love you,” out of habit, if nothing else. But he stifled the impulse and pulled away.

“So, what were you working on?” she asked, sitting back. Her gaze landed on the notebook on his lap.

Matt glanced down and shrugged, feeling angry with himself for having nothing to show her. How he wished he could make something wonderful appear in the empty surface of the page, just so she could see that she was not the only one with a validated future. Instead, he felt naked, his failure exposed in the implied absence of motivation. “I… I had something, but I threw it away.”

Her laugh sounded mocking. “What’s the point of that?”

Matt glanced away, his gaze shifting from the blank page towards the Washington Arch. She was right. What was the point? “Maybe there isn’t one,” he said after a moment, looking at her. “Maybe I’m just trying too hard.”

“Maybe you should just rethink this whole artist thing,” she replied thoughtfully. “I mean, your Dad is spending so much money to send you to NYU, just so you can, what, study art?” She checked her makeup in the pocket mirror she had withdrawn from her bag. “It’s not too late to change your mind.”

He watched her applying a new layer of lipstick.

Matt drew in a breath. “I have to go. I have a project for class I need to work on.” The lie filled him with a strange sense of pleasure.

Hilarie glanced up. “I thought we were getting something to eat?”

“Well, you were late. I don’t have time now.”

“That’s real nice, Matt. You could have told me you had something to do tonight. I would’ve made other plans.”

He rose, rolling his eyes as he did so. “Well, I’m telling you now.”

She stared at him, as if debating whether it was worth it to start a fight, as if debating whether or not she cared enough to bother. At last, she looked down and shook her head. “Whatever. Can I come over later?”

The question hung in the air between them like a truce, and Matt decided it was best to accept it. “Sure.”

“Cool. Is Willie going to be there?”

“He’s working late.”

Hilarie smiled. “Then I’ll be there early.” She kissed him again. “See you tonight.”

Matt stared after her, suddenly lost in what felt like desperation. He looked down at the sketchpad in his hand, resisted the urge to toss it into the wind, to forget for just one moment that his life boiled down to nothing more than empty pages waiting to be filled. Is that how Hilarie saw him, as a waste of time and money? What was the point, she’d asked him. What was the point of trying to capture the trivialities of life, to freeze the natural movements of the world in blocks of lines and shadows?

The leaves at his feet rustled to life, and Matt watched them struggle senselessly against the pull of the wind. He brushed the scattered strands of brown hair from his face, and held the notebook to his chest.

There was no point, he finally decided, moments later, as he started to walk away. No point at all; just the simple, unquestionable fact that this was what he wanted to do.

~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~

The magazine smacked on the small circular table, its sound drowned by the constant noise of conversation. Matt stared at the cover, its bright surface shining awkwardly in the dull, yellow lighting of the coffeehouse. When he looked up, blue eyes were watching him expectantly. “I’m sorry, I left my mind- reading powers in my other jeans,” Matt said finally.

Willie Garson settled into the empty seat across from Matt with a loud, dramatic sigh, and stared at his best friend with mock impatience. “Page thirty-two.”

“Please?”

Willie rolled his eyes. “If you would be so kind, please, as to turn to page thirty-two, please, I would be so very appreciative.”

“You could’ve thrown a ‘thank you’ in there for good measure,” Matt replied with a smile.

“Politeness is overrated.” Willie nodded solemnly. “It goes against my higher purpose.”

“Which is…?” Matt flipped open the magazine and began searching for page thirty-two, a task that proved difficult in the face of numberless pages.

“To be brutally honest in every and all situations,” Willie answered simply. “I’ve made it my personal goal to abolish b.s.”

Matt smirked and paused in his search. He looked up at his roommate with an arched brow. “Since when?”

“It’s my New Year’s resolution,” Willie declared.  
  
“It’s October.”

“So, I’m getting a head start. Did you find the page yet?”

Matt returned to the mission at hand. When he finally found page thirty-two, he stared at the black-and- white ad with confusion. “Jawline augmentation surgery?”

Willie touched his jaw. “I’ve decided that’s why I haven’t landed any good roles in anything; my jaw is not sharp enough. I’m thinking a cross between Harry Styles and Brad Pitt.”

“Wow.” Matt sat back against the chair. “Every time I think you couldn’t get crazier… you speak.”

“So you’re saying…?”

Matt leaned forward. “I’m saying you’d look like a freak.”

Willie frowned thoughtfully. “Well, then, there’s always the circus. Step right up! See the dude with a crooked face!”

Matt let out a long laugh. “I’m almost tempted to encourage you on that endeavor.”

“You’re a true friend,” Willie said, grabbing the magazine and turning it over so he could look through it. After a second of flipping idly through the pages, he shrugged. “Maybe it’s my hair…or the lack of. Maybe I should consider a hair transplant.” He rubbed his head. “Hm,” he said thoughtfully, and continued to look through the magazine.

Matt watched his friend with amusement, relieved to be in the presence of such a pleasant distraction.

“It’s just not fair that some people get to pull off any look,” Willie said suddenly. “It’s like Gale Harold. The man can try any style and still look hot.” He held up the magazine for emphasis.

Matt glanced briefly at the plethora of pictures featuring the actor in question. He shrugged after a moment. “I guess some people get to compensate for their lack of talent by being handsome.”

“Ooh, harsh. I hope you’re not that mean to me when I’m on the silver screen.” Matt stared at his best friend seriously. “You’ve got actual talent.”

“Well, I’m certainly glad you think so.” Willie smiled. “Although, he was really good in Falling for Grace.”

“I haven’t seen that. I just know he sucks on that show …”

“Desperate Housewives?” Willie supplied. “I don’t think he’s bad in it. I think the show’s just cheesy. You can’t really do much with a script like that.”

Matt shrugged, not having much of an argument for that, nor particularly caring. He glanced around the coffeehouse, momentarily fascinated by the murmur of conversations. All around him life went on in a giant mixture of words he couldn’t quite distill. Sometimes he wished he could step outside of himself just long enough to experience something other than his own life.

“So, what’s wrong?”

Matt turned back to catch Willie staring at him. “What makes you think anything’s wrong?”

“Because I know you. You’ve got that distant gleam in your eye. The one that screams, ‘I hate my life and everything it stands for because I’m an artist and I’m deep like that.’”

Matt couldn’t help but laugh. “Shouldn’t you be working?”

“I’ve got about five minutes left to listen attentively to your every problem before I return to the land of coffee-making. So, let’s hear them, in reverse alphabetical order. Although, I think I can already guess that they all start with the letter H.”

Matt looked away from Willie’s inquiring gaze. It was too much, he thought, to sort through every individual strand of bothersome emotion. There were no specific problems, none that he could point to with any amount of conviction and say, ‘There, that’s what’s bothering me.’ There was nothing, really, nothing but a broken jigsaw puzzle, with all the adjoining pieces scattered randomly across his mind, overturned and undecipherable. He stared at Willie through the silence, and shrugged. “I’m really not sure.”

“Ah, well, maybe I can help.” Willie shifted in his seat, wobbling the table as he placed his elbows on the wooden surface. “Let’s see, your girlfriend’s a self-absorbed dolt, who seriously, seriously, needs to look up words like ‘personality’ and ‘humor’ in the dictionary before ever attempting to have a conversation with another human being. Her laugh, on the bizarre occasion when she manages to at least amuse herself enough to elicit the hyena-like sound, is deeply irritating. You’ve been dating her for, what, like two years and I still haven’t figured out what you see in her. She’s pretty, sure, but I mean, look at you, Matt, you’re fucking gorgeous. And I’m sorry to say this, but your sex life is about as exciting as—”

“Okay, just stop,” Matt interrupted, holding his hands up in the air. “But thank you for your enlightening summary of everything that’s wrong with my girlfriend.”

Willie frowned. “That was hardly everything. Then there are your parents…”

Matt rolled his eyes and glanced at his watch. “I should go. Hilarie’s coming over, and I think your five minutes are almost up.”

“Okay, fine, but we’re not through with this yet. Remember, I know where you live.” Matt began gathering his belongings. “That’s very comforting, thank you.”

“So, about the jaw thing…”

Matt swung the backpack over his shoulder and smiled. “You are nuts.” He patted Willie on the back. “I’ll see you later.”

“Don’t forget to use protection!” Willie called after him.

Ignoring the suddenly attentive glances of the people around him, Matt headed quickly for the door.

**Author's Note:**

> The title is taken from the beautiful Beegee's song, "Words".


End file.
